


danger always was a friend of mine

by sunlightdances (glowinghorizons)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Natural Disasters, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 10:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16831138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowinghorizons/pseuds/sunlightdances
Summary: You get stuck driving through a huge storm on your way to the bunker. Dean reacts in a way you don’t expect.





	danger always was a friend of mine

The first thing you register is that you can’t really open your eyes.

You feel like you’ve got sand in them, and no matter how hard you try, your eyes won’t open. They protest every movement and the bright light in front of you is the only thing stopping you from panicking that you’ve gone blind.

You bite down on your bottom lip to keep yourself from screaming as you finally wrench your eyes open, tears streaming from them as the bright sunlight makes you wince.

“Jesus Christ–” you groan, looking around you. It’s coming back to you in flashes - the high winds, the absolute downpour… the demands from the Winchesters that you should, under no circumstances, try to drive to Lebanon that night. Oops.

You finally manage to get yourself upright, broken glass falling from your lap and from across your arms as you pull yourself up, looking ahead to see your windows completely gone, the front end of your car smashed in.

There’s a tree on your car. Like, an entire tree. Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, thinking about how close you could’ve come to not making it back at all. “Get out of the car. Get out–” you mutter to yourself as you try to stay calm and think about what you need to do next. You need some water to flush out your eyes and you need to see if you’re hurt anywhere else.

The driver’s side door is practically off its hinges and you slide out of the car easier than you expected. When you finally notice your surroundings, another curse leaves your lips. There are trees down _everywhere_. You remember vaguely hearing the storm sirens right before you were spun out by the sudden impact of the tree, and you fumble with shaky hands to get your phone out of your pocket. You’ve got to let them know you’re okay.

.

.

Dean is pacing.

He knows it won’t help. He knows that won’t help them find her, but it _feels_ like he’s doing something. Hopelessness is coursing through his veins, and he doesn’t know what else to do.

“Can you sit down?” Sam asks, voice cracking.

“No.” Dean barks. Both of their tempers are fraying.

“She’s going to be fine.”

“You don’t know that–”

“She’s smart,” Sam insists, “Even if she started driving here, she would’ve gotten somewhere safe.”

“And what if she didn’t?” Dean glares at his brother. “She’s not answering her damn phone–”

“The cell service is probably down. You saw what it’s like out there.”

.

.

The screen is cracked but it still works, but you can see that there’s no signal. You fight back another scream because how the hell are you going to get out of here? Limping back over to the car you manage to get the trunk open, relief flooding your system when you see a few bottles of water.

You tilt your head to the side and let the water run across your eyes and drip off the side of your face, the clarity it brings to your vision making you want to cry. “Okay,” you sigh, “Not blind. Good start.”

Slowly, you start to assess yourself, checking for broken bones and anywhere that might need stitches. You don’t feel dizzy and aren’t bleeding too badly, and you can’t help but be thankful because it seems like you were one step away from a one way ticket to the afterlife.

A sudden rumble in the distance makes you brace yourself, but when you throw a hand above your eyes to see against the glare of the sun, you feel relief like a punch to the gut when you see the familiar black glint of the Impala in the distance.

The car screeches to a halt, a cloud of dust behind it, and Sam’s already halfway to you by the time you round your back bumper, your face crumpling when you finally come to terms with the fact that you could’ve died, and that it would have been a death so useless, so preventable.

“You’re okay,” Sam whispers, arms tight around you, and you glance over his shoulder to see Dean there, one hand twitching like he wants to reach for you. His face is pale and his jaw is clenched tight. “Don’t ever do that again.” Sam says firmly, and you nod frantically against his shoulder.

He lets you go, and there’s only a small moment of hesitation before Dean takes his place, arms tight around you, a sigh wrenched from his chest.

“How did you find me?”

“Tracked your phone. When you didn’t make it, we thought–” Dean cuts himself off, swallowing. “We heard the sirens and kept seeing on the news about the storm… kid, half the damn town got levelled and you were out here in your fucking pickup truck.”

“It’s totalled.” You say, tears clogging your throat. You feel so _stupid_. You should have just listened to him in the first place. You could’ve stayed put, waited out the storm, and you never would have been in this situation.

Dean lets go of you. “We’ll get you a tow. Let’s just– let’s get back home and get you cleaned up.”

He and Sam manage to get the rest of your shit out of the backseat without getting themselves scraped up and you watch with wide eyes from the back of the Impala as they drive through what looks like a war zone. You still can’t believe you managed to drive through this as far as you did before crashing.

Dean’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel as he drives slowly through town. The bar the three of you would go to is nearly gone, the roof ripped off and the sign dangling from it’s post near the road.

There are trees and large branches everywhere, so much that Dean is not really paying attention to the lines on the road - he has to swerve around all the debris.

“It happened so fast,” you whisper, and Sam cranes his neck to look at you.

“You’re gonna be fine, you know. You got really lucky.”

You force a small smile. “I know. Thanks for picking me up.”

“You don’t have to thank us.” Sam says, turning his head back to face forward.

Dean doesn’t say a word.

.

.

The shower you take after Sam checks you out is the best thing you’ve ever felt. The hot water pounds down on your sore muscles, and you finally feel the last bit of grime leave your face and body.

You didn’t need any stitches this time, but Dean still found an excuse to make himself scarce as Sam helped you get some bandaids and checked your eyes. You know Dean is angry at you, and you know there’s a fight coming. You’re just so tired, and you already feel guilty enough.

You hate disappointing him. It– you’re a grown ass woman, yes, but it _matters to you_ what Dean and Sam think of you. You want them to trust you, to respect you, and not think you’re a dumbass for driving through a goddamn tornado.

Coming out of the bathroom, you’re struggling to pull a hoodie over your head when you slam into someone. You let out a squeal that you’ll absolutely deny later.

“Easy,” Dean says. “Just me.”

“Sorry–”

“Do you need help?” He asks, cutting you off.

“Uh–” you pull your hoodie the rest of the way down over your head and tug your wet hair out of the collar. “No, I think I’m good. Thanks, though.”

An awkward silence settles over the two of you.

“Are you mad at me?” You blurt.

He looks incredulous. “Am I _mad_ –” He stops, exhaling hard, hands on his hips. “No. I’m not _mad_. Not at you.” He tilts his head to the left. “Well, a little at you.”

You must look confused because he keeps talking. “I– do you have any idea what it was like knowing you were out there somewhere?”

You hang your head. “I know, I should have waited until the storm passed–”

“I knew you were going to drive through it, kid. You’ve never listened to me before, so why would you start now?” A ghost of a smile plays on his lips. “I’m not–” He runs a hand through his head like he does when he gets frustrated. “I can protect you from demons. Ghosts? No problem. Witches? Nothing to it. But this?” He gestures broadly. “I knew you were out there and there was nothing I could do to keep you safe. And I _hated_ it.”

You open your mouth to speak but he stops you. “And I know, I _know_ that you can take care of yourself. I know that better than anyone.” A quick flashback to the times you kicked Dean’s ass training in the gym comes to mind, and you smile back at him. “But knowing you were out there, with nowhere to go? That–” He stops himself. “Sorry. I don’t mean to dump all this on you.”

“Dean–” You don’t even really know what to say, just that you have to tell him that you know, you _know_ that he’d protect you if it came down to it. You know he and Sam would take a bullet for you, just like you would for them. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I know what you mean.”

When you look up to meet his eyes, he’s closer than you thought he was, and your breath backs up in your throat at the intense look on his face. Your back hits the wall behind you, and you can barely hear him over your heartbeat thundering in your ears.

“Don’t do that again.” He murmurs, eyes on your mouth.

“I won’t.”

He meets your eyes briefly, the vibrant green a darker shade, and you see a few emotions flit through his eyes before he leans in, giving you enough time to pull away if you wanted to. You absolutely don’t.

Your lips meet his in a fiery kiss, and you’re not really sure which one of you moves first. All you know is that Dean has you pressed against the wall, the weight of him against you so comforting after the day you just had. Your hands find his face, keeping him close, a groan tearing from his chest when you lightly scrape your fingernails against his day-old stubble.

When he pulls away, you’re both breathless.

He looks worried. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, and your stomach drops. “This is too fast, I don’t–”

“Please don’t tell me you didn’t mean to kiss me,” you whisper, unsure if he can even hear you.

“I meant it!” He says quickly, alarmed. “I just– you’re _hurt_ and I’m mauling you like some kind of–”

You move forward, gripping his t-shirt in one hand and pulling him close so you can meet his lips with a soft, tender kiss. He softens immediately, his breath escaping him on a harsh exhale. “If I didn’t want you to kiss me I wouldn’t have let you.” You tell him gently.

He stares at you for a minute, eyes flitting all over your face. You know him. He’s cataloging every scrape, every place where a piece of glass from your windshield has dug into your skin, and he won’t stop worrying about you until they’re completely healed.

“I mean it, don’t do that again.” His voice is gruff. “I need you here.” The last part is quieter.

Your heart swells. “I promise I’ll be more careful.”

He nods, taking your hand before leading you to your bedroom, where he makes sure you’re comfortable in bed before he heads off. After awhile you hear clunking in the distance and you know he’s in the garage, working on your stupid truck.

He sees this as something he can fix, something he can repair, almost like he can fix it and pretend your accident never happened.

The next morning, he’s out there bright and early, and you limp your way out to the garage to sit while he works. He frowns like he’s going to berate you, but stops himself when he sees two mugs of steaming coffee in your hand.

The two of you sit on your newly repaired tailgate and watch the sunrise in the distance. When your head lands on his shoulder, he doesn’t say a word. He just tugs you closer, his arm around your shoulders.

Sam comes out a little while later and sits there with the two of you for a few minutes before he and Dean start more work on your truck. Your throat feels tight as you watch them, and you take a minute to thank whoever might be listening up there that you made it through, and are able to be here, with them.

This is home, this is where you’re supposed to be.

.

.

You move into the bunker a few weeks later.

Dean fixes your truck, but you’re finding the backseat of the Impala to be a much better alternative.


End file.
